Trumped
by Peregrine2
Summary: Seesawing emotions and thoughts bring Kat and Patrick on a collision course with destiny.
1. Chapter 1

**Trumped-Ten Things I hate about you, Patrick/Kat  
Rated T for language and suggestive content  
by Peregrine  
**

Note: These characters belong to ABC Family. I am only playing in their sandbox for a few moments.

*****

1

They think they know me. Judge me for unthinkable misdeeds. And I let it happen, because I am like the jigsaw piece that never fits and leaves the puzzle unfinished. Kind of like my life. Raw, unformed, never sure who I'm supposed to be. The only thing I know for sure is that I don't want to be like any of them. Overly baked children of privilege, with their shiny death machines parked across two spaces, flaunting their mani-pedis and the list of celebrities they tweeted over the weekend.

Everything changes when the She-Wolf nearly takes me out with an open door. Nobody challenges me like that, or gives me attitude with a capital A. The battle continues at lunch, when I let her outstare me and move off, letting her think she's won, when in reality, I know it is only the first of many skirmishes between us.

******

How am I supposed to feel that the school's bad boy has taken an interest in me? I can't help but feel like a bug pinned in place whenever I catch his gaze on me. Dark eyes that burn with a fire that sears every last nerve ending, making me jangle whenever he crosses my path.

And when he finally deigns to open his mouth and utter a few syllables, I am taken aback by the deep timbre of his voice. Or the way it strokes the words like liquid velvet when he says I interest him.

He takes off on his bike, and I get the feeling it's not the last time he'll leave me hanging on his every utterance, exactly like the very thing I despise: the girl who lives and dies for her man.

In disgust, I watch his dark shape recede into the night and vow to shake off whatever spell he's cast over me.

**********

Katarina does not suit her, but Kat does. It fits into the wild animal motif I've fashioned in my mind whenever I think of her, which is way too much.

Pretty girls are a dime a dozen around here, and I can pluck any one of them by smiling in a certain way. But after a few empty acts behind the bleachers, I lose my taste for easy conquests. Blonde bimbos may decorate my bike on occasion, but it's mostly to get a rise out of the Kat woman.

I arrive at school every morning with a spring in my step, waiting for our next clash with an almost maniacal glee.

*****

Carnations? What was my sister thinking? Other than a great way to make us lowlifes feel even worse than usual when no one gives us a flower, it's yet another Bianca blonde moment. Except it _isn't_…not really. As I play in Photoshop and distort Patrick's face with the Pinch tool, the tiny part of me that still wants to be a girl yearns for the same thing my sister does. I let the thought bloom for a moment before tamping it back down in fury. Forget it. Forget _him_. He's just some weird guy with a smoldering stare that gets under my skin in a way that no one ever has. And the fact that I'm sitting her mooning over his photo is proof that I've lost it. Except, I have to wonder how he ends up starring in so many of my photos when I never set out to capture his image.

**********

I catch up with Charlie Woo and hand a carnation to him. "For me?" he gesticulates wildly, batting his eyes and darting out of reach when I take a playful swat at his hat.

"I have a job for you." His eyes widen as I float a twenty in front of him.

Good. That got his attention. "What now, boring a hole through the wall in the girl's locker room?"

"That is so last year," I mock, grabbing the carnation and burying my nose in its sweet depths, reminding me for a moment of the swirl of jasmine I inhaled as Kat woman battled for her personal space. "No, I have something much more interesting in mind."

I outline my plan and see that he is way more jazzed than I expected. "I would be honored to give this to sweet Kat," Charlie intones, and sweeps out his hand in a courtly bow.

Something didn't smell right. "You sure you're down with this?" I ask idly, chewing on my lip and watching Charlie as I blew at a fringe of curls that had flopped down.

"Sure. I would do anything for…I mean, totally," Charlie replies as he trots toward study hall.

It slowly dawns on me that I am not alone in my admiration for a certain willowy brunette, and of course, my fingers clenching into a fist have nothing to do with this fact.

*****


	2. Chapter 2

**Trumped-Ten Things I hate about you, Patrick/Kat, Rated T for language and suggestive content  
by Peregrine  
**

Note: These characters belong to ABC Family. I am only playing in their sandbox for a few moments.

2

Patrick is perched on the desk behind mine and it almost seems like he is waiting for me. _Yes_, I crow to myself as I see the blood red carnation. I fondle it in my hands as a rush of heat washes through me, rising to boiling point when I see the bold directions to look behind me. With a smile, I turn around and am shocked to see the pervy Chinese kid from the bathroom staring back at me.

He makes it worse by emoting some trite garbage that incites a torrent of angry emotion in me. In disgust, I stalk down the aisle and toss the flower at the perpetually whiny girl in the front seat, not even sparing a pissed off look at Patrick, who's most likely enjoying every second of my flustered departure.

******

I watch her shapely form disappear with mixed emotions. Instead of giving me a rash of shit, which is always a kick, she chooses to retreat. Perhaps she is saving her energy for a verbal fusillade, which will be worth the wait. But after she flounces past me, it's like she's stolen all the light and energy from the room and left me with the dusky dregs.

The pained cries of the moronic girl to my left grows more strident with each passing moment, and I stick my headphones on, letting some vintage 90s shoegaze blast into my ear canals, cajoling me from my funk with the killer guitars and angelic vocals of the Catherine Wheel. My middle-aged aunt dragged me around to shows throughout my childhood, and it's informed my musical tastes to an extreme degree, so much so that I've become something of a musical snob.

As _Kill Rhythm_ morphs into _Crank_, Kat's scowl comes to mind, only to be replaced by the fleetingly beatific smile I saw when she picked up the flower. That was the point of culmination, for it confirmed what I only dared hope. The Kat woman _liked_ me, and before I could cave to that Sally Field moment and take up writing Hallmark cards for a living, I twist my lips into a mock sneer and turn my attention to one of Shakespeare's sonnets.

*****

The next day arrives with a whimper and I am still pissed off. This never is a good sign, and sure enough, a migraine flits around the edges of my brain, coloring my vision with its lovely aura and making me dizzy enough to consider staying home. But coffee and a hot shower restores enough equilibrium to send me scurrying back to the rat's warren of Padua High.

Patrick is not at his usual morning vantage point, where he likes to mock me as I pass by. Instead, I am greeted by the sight of the Bathroom Perv stuffing a note into my locker. '_What the fuck_' almost makes its way out as I collar him and reinforce the idea that I am not interested. He swivels around and the sight of his shiner O's my mouth into fly catching mode. He mutters something and crabs away with a slither that makes me want to scour my skin with bleach. His note mitigates my outrage and swaps the Disgusting Perv label with a name. It also fuels my always avid curiosity about who messed up Charlie's sallow mug. And if Verona did the deed, then _why_ did he do it? Inquiring minds will knock him off his motorcycle into next year if he trots out his usual line of bullshit.

*****

I was tardy because I had to bail my brother out of the overnight lockup, so I miss my one chance to cross swords with my lovely Kat. And throughout the day, she is frustratingly absent from her usual haunts. Not only is she not snapping unflattering photos of vapid classmates, she isn't even hanging out with Mandella. I munch on an apple and raise my eyebrow when she accosts me. "This is all your fault," she accuses.

"Huh?" I have no idea what she was blathering on about.

"You can't treat her like that. It's not…" Mandella's spittle went flying as she tore me a new one, surprising me with her creative blue streak.

Mandella had a point. "Suppose you're right," I finish my apple and pitch it perfectly into the nearby trash container. "Would apologizing make any difference?"

Her mouth closes and I can see she's considering my words. "Nope. She still hates you with the fire of a thousand suns."

I grin and twiddle my hand theatrically. "So what's the point?"

She grimaces as Charlie Woo spots us and rears back in terror before tripping over his feet and sprawling unceremoniously at our feet. Before he can shield his face, I catch a glimpse of his black eye and whistle. "Look at all those pretty colors. Did Kat take you apart?"

Charlie shakes his head emphatically and points an accusing finger at Mandella. "Why don't you ask _her_ what happened?"

He runs off and it's not long before Mandella spills the entire account of her dirty deeds. She walks off with her fist buried in ice, and I acknowledge that if I hadn't been the architect of this whole scheme, then I would have been first in line to use Charlie as a punching bag.

*****

It's not like I try to flag him down in the parking lot. He screeches to a stop on his motorcycle and throws me a challenging stare from under that adorable fringe of curls that I long to run my fingers through. I get my breathing in control and mentally punch myself back into my cynic's corner, reminding him that I hardly spend time journaling about him and that his bad boy routine is wearing thin.

And then he has the nerve to deny that he beat Charlie up and flashes a Scout's honor smile that nearly melts the icecaps around my heart. A moment passes between us as we drink each other in, broken by his curt, "Do you mind?" and the sudden revving of his cycle. He drives off in that irritating way he has that reminds me that he has once again gotten in the last word.


	3. Chapter 3

**Trumped-Ten Things I hate about you, Patrick/Kat, Rated T for language and suggestive content  
by Peregrine  
**

Note: These characters belong to ABC Family. I am only playing in their sandbox for a few moments.

3

I try to notice patterns, and here's a big one. At least once a week, Kat wears a Filthy Souls T-shirt to school. She never chooses a particular day, but it's on that rocking hot bod at least once every 5 days. Can't say I think much of the band, but it might be worth some illegal download time to memorize every facet of their music and then throw it in my lady's face.

I visit the Mom and Pop Shop after school and my pal Jess snickers when I point at a Filthy Souls T-shirt behind the counter. "Thought you weren't into flavor of the month, Verona."

That statement could be spun any number of ways, but I choose to take the straight path for a change. "I'm not," I retort flippantly as he rings up my purchase.

"Ah," Jess nods as the charge goes through. "What's her name?"

He has enough ammunition on me, and I'm not about to spill on Kat just yet. "Doesn't matter," I mutter, looking at my feet and waiting for him to hand over the goods.

I snatch the bag from his outstretched fingers and almost make it to the door when he says, "Live Bait."

I look over my shoulder at his smirk. "What about it?"

"Your girlfriend's band is playing there in a couple weeks."

My mouth opens to protest but I shut it tight as a golden opportunity dawns before my eyes. "Thanks, man."

******

Something is up, and it can't be good. Patrick is almost pleasant to me, and we have an actual conversation about the awful history teacher we have first period. "What's going on?" I ask finally as he catches up with me after school.

He grins before looking down and out at the parking lot. "Are you always this paranoid?" he intones softly, stopping under an ancient oak tree, the shade dappling his chiseled features into a chiaroscuro.

"No," I shoot back at him, stopping at the dividing line between shade and sun, daring him to cross the line and invade my personal space.

Patrick crosses his arms against his chest and I gulp dryly at the way his shirt defines his manly contours. "Then what is the world coming to when a guy can't talk to a friend?"

A laugh bubbles up from my gut and I sputter, "We are _so_ not friends."

His warm chocolate eyes caress me and my stomach somersaults in response. "That so?"

"Damn straight." My own arms come up defensively as he takes a giant step that brings us nose to nose.

Patrick's dark eyes linger on my mouth for several, heart-stopping seconds. "That won't last," he states with a half grin that spears me with its overt sensuality.

I step back to a safe distance and cock my head at him. "Did someone put you up to this, Verona?"

"Nope." His smile fades and I see him erecting his usual walls. "Later."

******

It's two steps forward and three steps back with Kat.

Take this stupid Filthy Souls shirt I bought on a whim. I've been wearing it for two weeks straight under my sweater, hoping she'd follow her usual routine. But no, the girl has to break away completely and wear clothes that were probably vintage back in the 60s. I rip off the shirt every fucking night and throw it in the wash with my brother's oil-stained coveralls and I pick it up hopefully every morning, knowing this will be the day we match. Only it never happens, and I start to think I'm losing my edge.

What the hell am I doing mooning over some chick that can't stand me? Just when I've convinced myself that I see a glimmer of interest, something happens to completely unravel my convictions.

But I am nothing if not patient, and on the 15th day, it finally happens, and it couldn't happen on a better day, because tonight is the show at Live Bait.

I accost her as she tries to worm around me on her way inside from the quad. Kat doesn't really pay attention until I start pulling up my sweater, deliberately letting her see my abs before I take off my sweater and display my now faded tee from her favorite band. For a moment, her eyes glaze over and her mouth opens slightly, but she catches herself when I exclaim, "Same shirts."

She responds with her usual vinegar and paces away from me, but stops dead when I throw out the tidbit about tonight's show.

My guard is down and the pretty girls thing slips out before I can countermand it with a flippant comment. I have my marker ready and quickly cup my hand around her wrist as I write. She is staring hard at my fingers as I write the club name down as slowly as I can. Her skin is like satin in my palm and I have to squash the urge to stroke my hand down the length of her arm. I make note of the many bracelets twisted around both her wrists and know there is some special meaning assigned to them.

With a smile, I start to turn away, but Kat turns the tables and grabs my arm in turn, though there is nothing remotely sexy about the way she jabs my pen into my forearm. Part of me hopes she is jotting down her cell number, but the pressure of her bold strokes tells me otherwise. I stare down at the word Manners in bemusement and head off to the class I am auditing, A.P. English.


	4. Chapter 4

**Trumped-Ten Things I hate about you, Patrick/Kat, Rated T for language and suggestive content  
by Peregrine  
**

Note: These characters belong to ABC Family. I am only playing in their sandbox for a few moments.

4

Doug Benson is my English teacher, and one of the few teachers in this school that I respect. Most of the rest I rate between pond scum and bottom feeder. He'd agreed to let me check out his senior English class with the understanding that I do the same work as everyone else.

I'd kept up with the work and more, turning in extra assignments when the ideas started flowing, which usually happened late at night.

He stops me in the hall after his Friday afternoon class. "Patrick, a moment if you please?"

I shoulder my pack and follow him back into the classroom. "What's up?"

"You're doing stellar work in this class," Doug starts, lulling me into a false sense of security.

There is no doubt in my mind that I am his best student. I have seen the roster and my grades are always at the top of the list. "I know. So…?"

His lips tighten. "You can't stay in my class. There's a new student that signed up for this class, and there's only room for 1 more person. Her grades are way better than yours, so they've left me with no choice."

Damnit. I know who it is, and I know she's not even remotely aware of what this means to me, or she would have deferred. A bitter laugh escapes me. "Let me guess. Kat Stratford?"

Doug's eyebrows raise slightly and I see I've guessed right. "Friend of yours?"

"Not exactly."

"I'm truly sorry about this. Maybe if you talk to her, she can sign up for one of the other courses."

Talk to her, when all we did was argue or swap snarky comments? Not likely.

I wave off his platitudes and head out for the weekend. Might as well drown my sorrows in some Macallan before heading to the skanky club where this overrated English band was playing along with Billy Corgan.

*******

I have a few hours before the concert starts, and I don't plan on showing up early. That is the social kiss of death, revealing people who have no life and nowhere else to go.

So I hang out at home and bury myself in yearbook photos for a few hours. My Google Talk window opens and I see Mandella's pen name pop up.

"Hey, you'll never guess what I found out today."

"What?" She knows terse and I are best buds, so my one word answers are nothing new.

"Patrick Verona was auditing AP English, and he got dumped when you signed up last week."

The bottom fell out of my stomach and I felt like someone had sucker punched me. "No way," I type.

"Way. I saw the drop form myself. And get this, he's Mr. Benson's best student."

This does not compute. We both know Patrick has the lowest GPA in our class. I know, because Mandella works in the main office and we find out all kinds of shit about our classmates. My mind starts racing and I type, "You have Mr. Benson's number?"

The chat window spits it back at me and I swivel away to make a phone call. "Mr. Benson, please," I say when a pleasant female voice answers, knowing it is a real no-no to contact a teacher after hours.

"Hello, Doug Benson," he says.

"Hi, Mr. Benson, sorry to bother you. This is Kat Stratford. I need to talk to you about your AP English class."

"What's wrong? I thought you were all set to start on Monday." No mention of how wrong it was to bother him at home, unlike all the other thugs who pass for teachers at Padua.

"I was, but I heard you have a great student that has been asked to leave."

There is a short silence. "Did Mr. Verona tell you about this?"

"No, sir. He has no idea that I know."

"There's nothing I can do," he replies.

"But there is. You can call Patrick up and tell him that he's in. I will sign a drop form on Monday."

"I don't understand. Your options are very limited."

There was always the local community college, which would accept me based on my track record. "It's not a problem, Mr. Benson. Please call him up and tell him the good news. And one more thing? Don't tell him I called you."

Mr. Benson agrees before hanging up. My head still spins as I think about the implications of what I just did. Doing a favor for a friend is one thing, but Patrick is no friend of mine. Which means, there is more to this story than I am ready to admit.

*****

Music pounds in the background when the phone rings. I lower the volume and pick up my cell, glancing in amazement at the caller ID. Why the hell is Doug Benson calling me on a Friday night?

"H'lo," I say through a mouthful of Cheerios, my Macallan palette cleanser.

"Hi, this is Doug Benson. Can I speak to Patrick please?"

"Speaking." I wipe the back of my mouth on my sleeve and settle back on the couch.

"The main office just called me. Apparently Miss Stratford dropped my course, so if you're still interested, I'd be more than happy to admit you back to my class."

My throat closes up in stunned shock. "Is this for real?"

"I never lie, Patrick."

"Wow, yeah, this is amazing. Thanks!"

My fingers curve around my BlackBerry and I have a sudden inkling that this little miracle didn't happen without a little help from my friends. Hmm, song titles aside, I don't believe in coincidences. I happen to know someone who works in the office, and she just happens to be pals with the Kat woman. I might suck at math, but this little equation adds up to a rather satisfying summary. With a smile, I pull up Mandella's e-mail from my contact list and ask if she can meet me before the show.

Her answer is prompt. "Why?"

"I have questions, and you have the answers."

"When and where?"

"Starbucks. Say at 8?"

Her answer was a single letter 'k'.

My smile widens and I figure I'm about to get full disclosure on Ms. Kat Stratford, and maybe a whole lot more.

****

I find a place to park outside this rather cool looking record store called The Mom and Pop Shop. Judging from the window displays, they have a wide array of alternative artists in stock.

There's this Brendan Hines lookalike behind the counter and I have to forcibly stop myself from arranging my hair. "Hey, you have the latest Filthy Souls EP?"

His smile quirks up at my request and I sigh, figuring he's one of those snobs that looks down his nose at anything that smacks of commercialism. "Ah, so you're the one."

"The one?" I echo belligerently, as he reaches behind the counter and shoves the EP in my direction.

He keeps grinning and starts texting to someone. "Never mind. By the way, I'm Jess."

Instead of shaking his outstretched hand, I give him my credit card. "Kat," I say, before realizing he can figure out my name from the card.

"So you really like these guys?" he queries as the charge machine starts spouting paper.

"Sort of." That was a major understatement, but I wasn't about to spill to this dude who seemed secretly amused at my taste in music.

"Too bad you missed the in-store." Jess offers me a pen and I sign my name with a flourish.

"What?" My mouth opened up and I felt slightly crushed to realize I missed yet another chance to meet the band of my dreams.

"Yeah, they were here this afternoon, and they played a few songs."

"Crap."

He starts to lean toward me and murmurs, "You didn't miss much. They were complete assholes to their fans. They refused to sign and wouldn't let people take pictures."

That is total bullshit, and we both know it. But I pretend I'm buying it and say, "Ah. Well, I can admire them from afar."

"You headed to the show tonight?"

"Yeah."

"Have fun, and don't get too nervous about using that fake ID."

Did I really look that young and naïve? "How did you know?" I say quietly.

Jess laughs. "'Cuz you and every other kid in the city will have one tonight."

"Good to know," I say, and smile at him before heading back to my car to listen to the new EP.

******

Mandella is visibly nervous and jumps a little when I come from behind and tap her shoulder. "Oh, hey," she says, shrinking away from me and jamming her hands into her coat pockets. "So, what d'ya want?"

"Walk with me," I say, knowing she will fall in, out of fear more than from any compliance. That isn't a word that exists in the Goth world.

She has a hard time keeping up with my long strides and I slow down so she can catch me. "I didn't do anything," she states with a quivering lip.

"Sure you did. You told Kat Stratford about my English class." My voice is rather blithe, because I know I am right about this.

"I can't…I mean, that is against the rules, and I would never…" Mandella sputters before shutting up when I hold up my hand.

"Save it. Here's the deal. I won't rat you out for releasing confidential information if you provide me with something in return."

"Umm, like what?" We stop at the corner and I light up a joint, offering it over and watching as she inhales deeply. I see her start to relax and we duck into the alley behind the club to avoid a beat cop.

"Kat's cell phone number and address. That is it. I swear by all that you Goths think is holy that I won't ever ask you for another favor."

Her pupils are already dilating and she corkscrews her head in a freakish nod. "'K, you got it. This stays between us. If she asks, you never spoke to me."

And with a laugh, she hands the joint back to me and disappears into the Friday night throng that inhabits this area every weekend. A few moments later, she texts me with Kat's complete contact information. "You rock," I type back, and shove my phone into my back pocket.

It's show time, and I am almost giddy from the combined effects of too many shots and ultra pure Hawaiian that my brother scores from some dude at the garage. I march up to the head of the line and touch fists to my man Dane, who lets me cut the line in return for some cycle time this weekend when he'll borrow my ride to go see his lady in Tijuana.

*****

I should be excited to get past the mean-looking dude with the stamp, but I am a nervous wreck. It's not just the thought of seeing _him_ outside of the Padua cattle pens, it's the whole illegal ID thing, and what my Dad will do to me if he finds out. I might survive this semester, but then again, there's always the threat of Grandma's house in Iowa to keep me in line.

Then I spot this tall, lanky frame in leather and this relieved grin creases my face. But when he turns, I see that it's not my nemesis, but instead, I am facing down an androgyne, and a rather pissy one at that. As I babble complete dribble, he finally moves away with a huff and I start to panic.

_Fuck_. I am totally lost at sea. My nerves set me spinning around, looking desperately for anyone I can leech onto, just until I get my bearing. And then my dark knight is there, staring down at me in that way that sets my toes curling. "Looking for me?"

I throw out something about the lady's room and he flashes a lazy grin that I am sure he practices daily to score chicks. When he challenges me with his comment about me being excited to see him, I go all earnest on him and start quoting lyrics.

Patrick's features soften and he half closes his eyes as I accuse him of using music as a soundtrack for banging chicks. Then when I finish, he turns my words around on me and crinkles his eyes adorably and again displays that lazy smile that renders me senseless with lust.

We are standing shoulder to shoulder, and during the course of the song, he brushes against me a few times. At first I think it's an accident, but when his hand runs down my arm and lingers for a second when some drunk comes at me, I know he is watching out for me. I will never admit this is my first time doing this, but I am sure he knows the score. Then the makeout song starts up, and I know the game is changing fast, and only Patrick knows the rules.

****

I look around me with satisfaction. The moment has arrived, and my research has paid off. After looking online and spotting this song on their set list, I knew they would play it tonight.

And just as predicted, the couples pair off and start swallowing each other whole. I don't miss her turning slightly and looking around anxiously, but I let it slide for a beat before glibly saying, "Here's your chance."

And just as predictably, she snarks back at me with her tried and true sarcasm. Only it doesn't hold much weight when I see what we both really want reflected in the deep pools of her eyes.

'C'mon, you want me to kiss you." I inch closer until our hips are touching.

Kat tries to insult me by saying she'd rather lay one on the lead singer, but her body language is screaming that she wants it as much as me.

She doesn't move away and I lean so close I can see the freckles she tries to hide with makeup. Not to mention that sultry scent that gives me a rush whenever I Inhale it. "You sure about that?" I say huskily, knowing my feelings are shining like a beacon on the darkest night. There is no posturing or acting about my very real desire to kiss her, for I've thought of little else since I hatched this scheme to get her here.

Kat points out that I am the one moving closer, but she seems to be transfixed as I start angling in to capture her lips under mine. I move slowly, giving her a chance to back away, but she is all in, not budging an inch. I begin the final approach, when we are both startled by her phone. When she sees who it is, she retreats, and I figure it's her annoying sister. With a sigh, I pretend to laugh and smile as a blonde bimbo moves in for the kill. I sense her looking back at me, but before I can flag her down, she is off at a trot, no doubt headed somewhere to rescue her sister. *****


	5. Chapter 5

**Trumped-Ten Things I hate about you, Patrick/Kat, Rated T for language and suggestive content  
by Peregrine  
**

Note: These characters belong to ABC Family. I am only playing in their sandbox for a few moments.

5

We are back to square one in the Antagonism game. It's like Friday night never happened and I start to think I imagined that almost kiss. Patrick isn't perched at his usual spot on Monday morning, and he keeps his head down when I pass his locker.

That makes it all the more difficult when I realize what I have sacrificed…for _him_. A chance to study with the best teacher in this school, an award-winning teacher who could be off writing Pulitzer prize-winning novels. I watch him enter Mr. Benson's class, and he never once turns around to acknowledge me. Once I pass the doorway, I feel him staring, but I don't give him the satisfaction of looking back.

"What have I done?" I mutter to my disheveled image in the bathroom mirror.

"You talking to yourself again, Kat?" Mandella joins me at the sink and pats cold water on her face.

"Just stewin'," I retort, biting at my lower lip in consternation.

She hands me some lip balm and I smile at the Burt's Bees label. "Thanks."

"You did a really nice thing. You should feel good about that instead of worrying whether that rat will acknowledge you. Trust me when I tell you that he's _so_ not worth it."

I glance over at her flushed cheeks. "Something happen I should know about?"

Mandella looks alarmed and huddles down into her coat. "It's _nothing_. Just…_don't_ get mixed up with that dude. He'll seduce you with that smile before closing in for the kill."

Damn. She sure was right about the smile. "We should probably get to the yearbook office."

"Sure thing." Mandella was one of the yearbook designers and she did fabulous layout work.

We pass by Mr. Benson's class again and this time I can't escape his eyes. For a second, he holds me pinned in place, and I stop breathing at the intensity of Patrick's gaze. It takes a few tugs at my sleeve to drag me away from the door and back to reality.

*****

I've always used sarcasm as a shield to hide my shy and insecure side, and when that doesn't work, I rely on my fists to survive. When I shot up nearly a foot in junior high, and bulked up over the summer, things changed for me overnight. I achieved my reputation as a fighter through brawls with all the school bullies, until not one of them would come near me.

Rumors work to my advantage, so I don't care what they say, or that they fear me. I will kick the high school habit in 8 months, and never see any of these people again. Every day, I mark off the days and look at the red graduation circle looming in June. Except, I stopped doing it when she waltzed into my life last month. Now I am counting the moments until I see her again, so full of piss and vinegar that I know in an entire lifetime, she will never bore me.

But when I see her after a weekend of reliving every second I had with her at Live Bait, I don't know what to say. And what's worse, there is this whole noble thing she did for me with Benson's class. I am not supposed to know what happened, yet she seems to expect me to bow down and acknowledge her greatness.

Queen Kat, offering her long, tapered fingers to her grateful subjects. OK, yeah, I appreciated her little gesture, but did I have to spend the rest of my days paying for it? With that thought stoking my fire, I was ready to do battle once again.

******

Mandella and I sit in the same spot every day at lunch, and Patrick invariably strolls out to a spot where he can spy on me.

Today he is even more deliberate, lying down within easy reach of the trash can. He munches on his apple, I chow down on bulgur, mint, and feta salad. Then he tosses the apple core in my direction, barely missing me as it bounces off the lip of the trash can.

I scowl at him and wrap the core in my plastic, recyclable bag. We continue our conversation, and I ignore the challenging raise of his eyebrow. Who the fuck does he think he is, littering the earth for his own amusement?

The second salvo misses the can by a wide margin, and I jump to my feet. "Pick it up," I order imperiously. He sits there mutely, the breeze caressing his curls and looking for all the world like an innocent little boy. "Aww, do you have trouble hearing?" I say with sweet sarcasm.

Patrick smiles slightly and continues with his Helen Keller act. I pick up the trash and before I can return to my seat, he's tossed another piece of trash at me.

I shove it angrily in the bin and that's when he smirks and says, "I just like watching you bend over." Part of me knows he's doing this to goad me, but I never seem to listen to my rational side. Instead, I hear the devil on my shoulder tell me what to do and I kick the trash can all over him. That sure gets his attention!

He sits straight up and stares at me in stunned disbelief, clearly not used to anyone challenging him. With a smug smile, I sit down and watch as the inevitable teacher bears down on Patrick and starts yelling in his face. He starts picking up the trash for real, managing to glare at me every time he gets a chance.

*****

Kat woman has guts, and the part of me that isn't all pissed off can respect that, even as I sit beside her in disgust.

The principal blames me like she always does, not even giving me a chance to tell my side of the story. But what would I say, that I was a complete pig and was going out of my way to antagonize Kat? That I loved seeing the flash of fire in those dark eyes when she got her Irish up, that I liked her most when she was at her most extreme? And that behind every comment I made was a tiny bit of truth?

I did _like_ watching her bend over and seeing the curves of her lovely backside, dreaming of the day when I might cup her with my overly large hands and slide against her in bliss. For bliss it would be, even as she eviscerated me with her tongue. With a frustrated sigh, I leave the office, knowing I would spend yet another wasted afternoon in detention. You think I would learn after all this time, but it didn't matter. I had nothing better to do, so I spent time writing in my journal or crafting poetry. I was even trying my hand at a sonnet after reading all of Will Shakespeare's sonnets. And if it turned out well, I might show it to Mr. Benson.

*****

Kat shows up at my locker before I head out to my math class across the quad. She hands my pack to me like she wants to scrub herself with bleach. "Can't stay away, can you?" I joke idly, trying to lighten the tension between us.

She looks revolted when I ask if she looked in the bag (of course she did) and jokes about her Hazmat suit being at the cleaners. I grin and turn away, my smile widening a bit more when I am out of sight, glad that we are at least back to an armed truce. If she can pretend that Friday night never happened, so can I.

Math class drags on and every time I glance at the clock, it seems like only 30 seconds have passed. Finally, we are finished for the day, and I saunter down to the detention classroom, where I am caught up short by the sight of Kat, donning an orange vest and a trash spearing implement. She smiles tightly at me and waits with crossed arms as I suit up.

******

Patrick follows me at a distance, haphazardly picking up stray bits of litter, but not at my frenetic pace. I start to think he is retreating to his corner, when he suddenly comes out swinging, telling me he's figured me out (he has, and he's right about the obsession).

I toss out my secret desire to pick up trash with him as we work side by side in these sexy orange vests, digging deeper with my vitriol when his smile curls up lazily, clearly pleased by my reaction. And when we finish with the hot dog dance and I slip up by mentioning acid reflux, he brings up my obsession yet again, insisting that it's OK and I should just admit it and be done with it.

Only, I know he is playing the same game as the other night when he insisted it was I that wanted him to kiss me (I did, but that's hardly the point, is it?). By now, I am so flustered about his damned bag that I thrust downward without looking.

The pole slices into his foot and he yells in pain. The game is over, and the only winner is our continued acrimony.

*****

Kat insists on staying with me outside the nurse's office, clearly concerned about my toe, which is bleeding like a stuck pig. When she asks to see it, I smirk and shove it right under her nose. I tell her she can go, but she stubbornly sticks it out, doing just what I want her to do.

We relax for a moment and joke about some poor guy with a splint on his nose. The laughter is unforced, and shows a glimmer of what it might be like between us under better circumstances.

When I am called into the nurse's office, I start fishing through my bag, my fingers automatically going to the spot where the photo of me and my uncle is hidden. Only it's not there, and I start searching frantically, throwing out accusations which may or may not be true, and ending our interlude with the angry slam of a door.

******

I find the cube under the sink, and find it oddly touching that the boy with the horrible reputation carries around something that clearly means a lot to him. Patrick was genuinely upset with me, all jokes about obsession fleeing with his very real anger over my invasion of his privacy. And I feel like a complete shit heel as I scud my boots across the parking lot and catch his attention in the rear view mirror. His glance at me is unguarded and vulnerable, as if wondering whether I will use this personal tidbit against him in our unholy war. No words are exchanged, but I hope my gaze reassures him, even if he isn't speaking to me at the moment.

**AN**: Thanks for all the feedback. I really appreciate that you took the time to read my story and comment on it. I have one more chapter to go.

As a side note, this is my first writing effort after a 4 year dry spell. I once said I would never write another piece of fan fiction, but here I am writing one and not working on my novel, and all this with a disability that makes it painful for me to work on a computer. Guess I wanted to get the words out, as someone from Wonderfalls once said.

The Brendan Hines mention comes from my admiration for this actor/musician, whom I first spotted in The Middleman.

Thanks again!


	6. Chapter 6

**Trumped-Ten Things I hate about you, Patrick/Kat, Rated T for language and suggestive content  
by Peregrine  
**

Note: These characters belong to ABC Family. I am only playing in their sandbox for a few moments.

6

The Veronas come from Irish-Sicilian stock, never a good combination under the best of circumstances. In my case, I tend to be a hot head who reacts without thinking, often jumping to conclusions that are not valid. But there is a plus side to this. While I might get easily torqued, I simmer down quickly and don't hold grudges.

Like the Kat woman turning my toe into a shish kebob. It hurts like hell, but this too shall pass.

I am feeling rather jubilant about it, because now I am one up and she is in the dog house. And I am more than ready to let her do some major groveling.

On the way to my bike, she accosts me and swallows a whole bunch of pride and apologizes. I know what this is costing her, and I am milking every second. With a grin, I tell her not to sweat it and make up some crap about keeping my distance. It's a complete lie, but she seems to buy it.

******

After my car backfires and engulfs people in blue smoke, I know I have to take action. I mull over some ideas, but none really catch fire until I hook up with Mandella.

I never would have come up with the biodiesel angle, but it makes perfect sense. I have a free period in the afternoon, and I approach the shop teacher about using a bay, as long as I don't interfere with his class or use his tools.

When I back the car in, and seeing the hooting guys, I know this will be a severe test of my intestinal fortitude, but damnit, if Mandella's cousin can do it, so can I, and I haven't wet the bed in over a decade.

Right out of the gate, I have a bigger problem than the chubby guy with the major 'tude. Trouble, as in, I can't open my damned hood, so I find a convenient boot to kick and nearly jump a foot when I am face to face with Patrick, who looks ready to knit my flesh into a sweater if I don't get out of his face. I start to turn away, but he catches me in the space of a few heartbeats and slaps the crow bar into my hand. "Thanks," I mutter, not daring to look him in the eye. Wouldn't want the local grease monkeys to get any ideas.

****

The guys are in her face throughout the afternoon, and decide to take up a pool to combat their boredom. They ask me if I am in, and I drop a ten into Milk Dude's fist. That is what I call him, for he is low on the intelligence meter and apt to scarf Milk Duds as he changes oil, not even caring if they are coated with grime. I laugh at all of them behind their backs, never letting them know what I really think.

Growing up, I was at my father's knee as he fixed cars, and I knew more than the lot of them combined when it came to engines. This class filled a hole in my schedule and was a guaranteed A, something I sorely needed on my transcript. If I ever hoped to rise above the family auto repair business, I needed to capitalize on my work in Benson's class and work extra hard in my other classes. As much as I hated high school, I saw everything going forward as a means to an end, and the end really was in sight.

So yeah, I joined the pool, but my real desire was to cast my lot in with Kat and prove the bastards wrong about her. But I had to save face and pretend to be one with the guys, if only to make the rest of the semester a pleasant experience.

*****

The instructions suck the big one. I can't sort through any of the steps, which look like they are written by the 7 Dwarves, starting with Dopey and ending with Cranky, which is what I am right now.

Verona needs to be reminded that I am not here because him, so before he takes off for the day, I go over to his truck and lay down the law. When he ignores me, I bang on the hood and am rewarded with his yell. Was he still really that annoyed with me about showing up in his sacred space?

Patrick wheels himself out from under the truck and I am horrified at the sight of oil covering him from stem to stern. "What the hell?" he growls, looking quite ready to tear me a new one if I didn't kill myself first with his nearby crowbar. When I offer my hand, he waves me off and spits words at me like nails.

And then it happens. He pulls off his soiled T-shirt, and even covered in grime, he is the most gorgeous man I have ever seen. His sculpted chest muscles and arms are every girl's pinup dream, and I am practically panting in lust. Then he catches me gawking and raises his eyebrows in menace. "Don't flatter yourself," is all I get out before I move back to the hopeless task in front of me.

******

I peer over her shoulder on the way out of the shop and know she is sunk. There is no way she can complete her task by tomorrow, which is what the bet dictates. Though knowing her as I do, she will stay here all night just to prove a point.

My feet take me in the right direction and I end up next to my motorcycle, but my mind is miles away, thinking about the way she just looked at me (not for the first time) in all my grimy glory, and realizing that she will take me any way she can get me. For some guys, having this kind of power over someone gets them off, but I don't operate that way. If all I wanted was an easy fuck, I could snap my fingers at the girl of my choice and be done with it. But this girl is worthy of me in a way that no one has ever been. She can best me on most things, but auto shop is not one of them.

If I were less proud and a better person, I would go back there and work side by side with her, helping her beat the assholes in shop, even if it meant losing the bet and giving her the upper hand once again. But I am not up to the task, even knowing that I owe her a big favor for getting me back into Benson's class.

So I take the coward's path and ride towards home, knowing I will find my brother passed out on the couch and my aunt typing away at the dinner table as she moderates one of her chat rooms.

*****

My Dad bails me out, showing up with dinner and a boatload of common sense that wraps up the job in a few hours. He is my hero, and we both agree that maybe I should give these extracurricular projects a rest.

The next day dawns and I am met by Patrick and the grease monkeys (catchy name for a band), looking at me in stunned disbelief. I am savoring the moment for all it's worth as I joke about time machines and pour in the oil, keeping my internal fingers and toes crossed that the car will start on the first try. I can't miss the shock on Patrick's face, or the hint of admiration in his eyes as I gavotte about the car and get behind the wheel.

And holy shit, the car starts right up and is running like a champ as I crow, "Pay up." Now the pudgy dude says I can buy a lot of oil instead of repeating his overly stale tampon joke.

Before I can take off, Patrick sticks his head in the passenger side window and there is no doubting the sincerity of his admiration. He throws down a not so subtle hint about taking it for a spin, and I am positive he wants to come with, which is why I decide to lob my grenade back at him and remind him that now we can really keep our distance. With a grin, I drive off and know that I will savor this moment for a very long time.

AN: I lied. There will be at least one more chapter, maybe two. I would have posted this yesterday, but could not log into .


	7. Chapter 7

**Trumped-Ten Things I hate about you, Patrick/Kat, Rated T for language and suggestive content  
by Peregrine  
**

Note: These characters belong to ABC Family. I am only playing in their sandbox for a few moments.

7

"You're a chickenshit." Jess rounds the corner of the vintage Camaro I am restoring and hands me a bag of Chinese take-out. I am working late to make up for the time I spent in auto shop over the past week.

"About?" I know damn well what he is referring to, but I am not about to cop to it. I toss the bag to one side and continue working.

"You know _exactly_ what." He pretends to box at me and I clip him under the ear with my knuckle.

"I don't want to discuss it." I finish up on a section of fender and wipe my brow.

"Of course you don't. Because that would mean you'd have to admit what a king-sized asshole you are being to this chick. If you were a man about it, you wouldn't care what those dipshits in auto shop think."

Jess was right, but I am getting a bit steamed at having my guilt handed to me on a silver platter. "You know what? I'm sorry I told you."

He pisses me off even further when he starts laughing. "Man, you are _so_ 18."

Jess is in his last year of college. "Go ahead, rub it in."

He is still laughing at me. "You need to grow a set and get with the program, or you're going to lose your dream girl."

"OK, whatever. Can we talk about something else already?" I grab the bag and we head across the parking lot to my house, which shares the property with the family business. "Unless you want Aunt Rachel to weigh in, and you know how she is about this kind of thing."

Jess smirks and pretends to leer, "If I were 20 years older…"

"You'd still be a pig," I counter as we skitter up the steps to dive into our ribs.

************

Keeping my distance really bites. The week goes by and we barely acknowledge each other. Why I keep falling for his hot and cold routine not only goes against my grain, it is beyond belief. So I start thinking maybe I will cast my net into a different pond, such as the sexy, older guy at the record store. He isn't so old that my Dad will freak out, but he seems well beyond the juvenile shit that goes on in high school. And even if nothing much happens, I might just gain a cool friend, and God knows I can use one of those right now.

Friday night comes around again, and I decide to visit the music shop, only my stupid sister with her impeccable timing insists on borrowing the car. She's only just gotten her license and can only stay out until 10, so I tell her to drop me in the vicinity of the store, and that she better get her hiney back her no later than 9. She tells me to chill, and that she will call me if anything comes up.

That should satisfy me, until I see that I have no cell phone signal in this vicinity. "Crap," is all I mutter, as I stroll into the store and frown when I see that only a girl my own age is manning the counter. "Is Jess around?"

She rolls her eyes and I feel heat rise to my cheeks. "He's out on break. Should be back in ten. Want to leave a message?"

"Nope. I'll come back." I step out onto the sidewalk and nearly lose it when I see Jess walking along with Patrick Verona. Before they can see me, I duck into a nearby coffee shop and dive behind a stack of books when I hear them enter the shop behind me. I pick up a massive book and find a corner to hide in, but my luck continues to blow. Turns out the graphic novels are right next to the couch where I'm slumped behind the King James version of the Bible. Shit and double shit! I hear them joking about some Japanese editions that just arrive and that is when it gets interesting.

"So, you plan on taking my advice or what?" Jess asks lightly.

"Jesus, are we back to that again?" Patrick's voice falls to that deep timbre he uses when he's supremely annoyed.

"Look, either do something about her, or move on."

I hear him turn the page with a loud snap. "Drop it."

His friend laughs, clearly used to Patrick's little fits of temper. "OK, but don't get mad if I ask her out."

I dig right back into Proverbs as they walk by me. "You wouldn't."

They pause at the literary section behind me and Jess finishes with, "Oh, but I _would_. Your girl isn't immune. You do recall that text I sent a few weeks back?"

"I thought you were joking," Patrick says stonily.

"She was definitely primed." I am not sure I like Jess's silky tone, and I am really annoyed that they are discussing me like I am a piece of meat.

"_Not_ for you."

"Oh, really? She was primping her hair before she came to the counter. If you got your head out of your ass, you'd notice these things."

That is when I slam the book closed with a murderous thump, causing them both to jump. When they spot me sitting there, they both start blushing on cue. I shove the book at Patrick and glare at Jess. "Just for the record," I hiss, "I can't stand either one of you."

Their mouths are hanging open as I tear down the aisle, out of the store, and into the torrential downpour that is well met by my fury. One of them opens the door and it's Verona, starting toward me with a guilty expression that does nothing to abate my rage. "I am _so_ done with you," I roar, and then run off into the night, ignoring his cries and running until I am completely out of breath.

***********

I still can't believe she was here, or that she said what she did. It cuts deep, and I know she meant every word. Jess joins me under the awning and we walk silently to the record store, our earlier tiff all but forgotten. My head swivels around and I say, "Have you seen her car?"

"What's her ride look like?"

"Umm…" I am beside myself with worry, for I am not seeing her car and I know she would have parked someplace close if she had the car with her. Running away like she did at breakneck speed, she never would have had time to jump in a car and tear off. Nobody is that cool, and especially not her. "A crappy old, tan Volvo."

Jess nods like he remembers the car. "Yeah, I saw it a few weeks back, but not tonight."

"Shit." I kick at a crumpled beer can and want to hit something. "Kat doesn't know her way around, and this neighborhood? She could be in real trouble."

"She can probably call someone. Don't worry so much, man."

Kat uses the same cell provider as I do, and there is no signal around here. "I have to go."

"And do what?"

"Find her, and tell her how I feel."

"Good luck with that." Jess snickers and slaps my shoulder, but I shove his hand away as I head to my brother's truck, hoping I am not too late to fix the mess I have made.

*****

I am blocks from the record store and my phone's GPS has no service, so I can't look up anything on Google maps that would guide me back to the store. It is raining so hard that it's bouncing off the sidewalk, and there are no lights of any kind. Shadowy shapes lurk in the distance, and they solidify into something approaching human as I move closer. This can't be good. It doesn't take a genius to figure out this is a rough neighborhood, and a girl without adequate protection is pretty much dog meat. And a cell phone that has no signal? Yup, I am fodder for a pit bull.

My feet take me to the opposite side of the street and I curse as a large truck passes close enough to kiss my coat, washing me with a wall of water that completely engulfs me. My teeth are chattering like typewriter keys and I am cold to the bone. My courage, which has never failed me before, starts to waver as I see the shadows cross the street and form a phalanx that blots out the night, blacker than black and forcing my rising terror to a fever pitch when they start calling out degrading comments.

My fingers pull out a can of Mace and my other hand finds the Taser in my pocket. Never leave anything to chance. I stop short and assess the situation with what little rational thought I have left. I can take maybe two of them before the other three jump me. They can have my pocketbook, but I will fight them tooth and nail if they try to violate me. One of them steps forward and calls, "C'mon girlie, let's have a little fun."

I wait until he's within shooting distance and I nail him with the Mace. "Gotcha, asshole," I crow as he calls me a bitch and swings blindly at me. His second-in-command moves at a blur and I knock him down with the Taser. As he writhes in agony, the other three surround me. Two of them grab my arms while the third twists my face with his hands and starts kissing me. I bite down on his lip and knee him in the balls, which only inflames him further. "You'll pay for that, bitch," he snarls before backhanding me, his ring cutting into my cheek. I stifle my moan and pretend to go limp, making the other two think I am falling into a faint, when I am actually gearing up for another round. With a jab of my elbow, I plow it into the solar plexus of the thug on my left while kicking back and tripping the thug on the right. One of them howls and I almost escape the clutches of the second, until he sweeps out his leg and drives me to the ground. The guy who got kneed puts his foot on top of me and starts pushing down. "My face will be the last thing you ever see," he snaps, and that is when I hear the screech of brakes as a big, black truck stops at the curb. Someone jumps down and whips around the back of the truck, moving so swiftly that all I see is a dark blur launch themselves at my attacker. My eyes close and all I can feel is the cold rain pooling under me, sending me into sweet oblivion and then nothing more.

****

I use a grid pattern for my search, and I finally hit pay dirt on the tenth pass with my brother's Suburban. It's a big, heavy truck with a lot of horse power, armed with a shot gun and a baseball bat that I am all too ready to use on anyone who touches her. And I am almost too late when I spot the cluster of goons on 10th street. They can only be members of the Red Devils, the same gang that Pedro from auto shop belongs to. And if I catch his ass out here tonight, I will kill him.

They ignore my truck, figuring only a fool will take on five guys, even five guys who are partially maimed by Kat woman. I don't even think about how I will pull this off, only that I will succeed on extracting Kat and getting the fuck out of here.

My bat catches the guy by surprise, knocking him off Kat and clear into the barbed wire fence. When a brass knuckle kisses my ear, I automatically go into fighting stance, swinging my left leg in a Kung Fu move I mastered many years ago. It causes Goon Number 2 to collide with Goon Number Three and as they stagger like drunks, I slam their heads together and knock them unconscious. The leader comes back at me and I let him close enough to punch my shoulder, before I chop near his carotid, which only knocks him to the ground instead of killing him. The other two guys see my bat and decide I am not worth the trouble. I kneel down and swear when I see the blood dripping down her face.

I hear a siren coming in this direction and decide I don't want to be around when they show up. With a muffled curse, I pick up Kat and gently put her in the back seat, wrapping an old Mexican blanket around her. The cops arrive just moments after I pull away and I sigh in relief when no one follows me. I will take her back to my house and figure it out as I go along. No one is home, and that is probably for the best.

****

I gradually come back to life, and when my eyes flutter open, I panic for a second, not recognizing the darkened room where I lie covered by a blanket. Something moves near my feet, and I see a cat get up and stretch before curling back into a ball. "Hey, kitty," I whisper, my hand falling back when I realize I am too weak to sit up on my own.

Someone emerges from the gloom and I am completely shocked when I hear Patrick's voice say, "That's Sid. Don't worry, he's keeping an eye on me."

A smile widens my lips for a second. "Where did you come from?" I say hoarsely, starting to cough when I realize how dry my throat is.

"Here." Patrick puts his arm behind me and helps prop me up against a pillow. He reaches over and brings a cool glass of water to my lips, where I drink noisily.

"Thanks." I lean back against the pillows and suddenly realize they smell like _him, _and that I could only be in his bedroom. "Am I…your house?" I babble nonsensically.

"Yeah." His fingers stroke the side of my face and I turn away with a wince. "This is all my fault."

My whole body starts shaking as I remember the night's events. "No. I ran away. Have to call home."

He cupped my face with his hand and I lean into it with a sigh. "Already tried that. No one's there."

My eyes open a bit wider as my mind starts to race, wondering how he knows my number. "How d'you know?" I slur.

I can feel him smile in the dark. "I kind of borrowed your cell phone."

"OK. Bianca?"

"Also no answer."

I want to ask what happened, but I feel sleep trying to claim me again. "Sleepy," I murmur.

He strokes my hair for a second before I feel him withdraw. "I'll check back on you later."

My hand catches his and I say, "Stay…please."

Patrick stretches out next to me and I feel his strong arms encircle me as he says, "I thought you'd never ask."

My lips curl up slightly as his warmth cocoons me and lulls me into a deep sleep.

*****

I love watching her sleep. She moans my name a few times, and I am encouraged as she tightens her hold on me. It is past sunup and light has started to turn the murky black into a lighter gray. Something in her shifts and I know the exact second she awakens by the way she tenses up. Kat turns to face me and even in the dimness, I can see her trying to figure out what is going on. "What time is it?" She rises up enough to see the alarm clock and swears in my ear. "My father is going to kill me."

I put my hand on her shoulder and stop her from sitting up. "He's not home, remember? Your sister said something about a medical conference."

"My sister…wait, you talked to her and didn't wake me up?" Now she sounds slightly outraged and I know she is feeling better than last night.

"You were in no shape to go anywhere, Kat."

Kat tries to look around my room but I am not ready to let her go just yet. "Do you mind?" she says, pushing my hand off her arm.

"Please, you're in no shape to…" She thrashes away from me and jumps to her feet, only she sways like a drunken sailor and falls backward on top of me. "Do that," I finish with a smile.

She stiffens and rolls off of me. ".God. Where are my clothes?" Kat looks down at the oversized sweats that are covering her from tip to toe. I must say, they look a good deal better on her than my Aunt Rachel.

"In the dryer. Everything was wet."

Kat sits back on her haunches. "Are you telling me…you _undressed_ me?"

"My aunt wasn't here, and there was no one else, so..yeah," I admit sheepishly, feeling like sinking into the ground for seeing what I had and enjoying the sight, even as I kicked myself mentally for being a perv.

Her cheeks pinken in the morning light, and I am dying to kiss her, if only to seal the deal right here and now. But I see her rising anger and know I have to keep it cool, at least for now. "That's just fucking great." She suddenly punches my arm and adds, "How _dare_ you?"

I wince at the power of her swing. "What, you'd rather I let you catch pneumonia? You were in bad shape."

Kat finally says, "OK, so tell me what happened already."

With a sigh of relief, I tell my part of the story and watch as a few 'oh shits' roll across her face, and at the very end, her fingers are digging into my bicep, whitened by the unconscious pressure she is applying. "You can let go now," I extricate my arm from her grip and she immediately takes my hand in hers.

She sighs. "I never want to let go again."

*****

I can't believe I am in Patrick Verona's bed with him waiting on me hand and foot. He brings me coffee and plain toast, which is about all I can handle right now, and as I sip at the delicious brew, he strokes my hair and has the sweetest look of concern I have ever seen on his face. There is nothing fake about the way he is looking at me, and I find it takes my breath away.

I set the mug down and look at him seriously. "Thank you for going after me after all that shit I said, and for taking care of me."

He smiles almost shyly and a curl slips over his eye. I am riveted by the sight and my hand reaches out and wraps the curl around my finger. Patrick looks up with a grin and says, "You can blame my mother for the curls."

I let go of his hair and admit, "I think it looks kind of hot."

"Good to know." The look he flashes me is scorching and I feel like I am swimming upstream, struggling against the rampant desire to wrap myself around him and kiss him senseless.

Patrick throws me that lazy smile as he opens his arms and envelops me. "Do you mind?" he asks softly, and when I shake my head his first kiss lands on my right ear. I gasp as he bites my ear lobe gently and starts sucking and licking his way down my jaw line, landing somewhere south of my mouth as he works his way down to my neck. "Are you sure?" he says with a muffled laugh as he buries his face in my hair.

I am not sure I trust my voice, but I stammer, "W-will you just kiss me already?"

He raises his head and I am totally stunned by the lust in his dark eyes. "Thought you'd never ask," he says softly, and when his mouth descends, it is swift and sure as Cupid's arrow.

*******

No one has ever smelled and tasted as sweet as my Kat. And when she finally grants permission, this white light bursts inside me and I am kissing her ravenously, my mouth slanting over hers, biting and sucking and opening her incredibly soft lips under mine. She moans as I deepen the kiss even further and surrenders completely as I lower her to the bed, gently rolling on top of her and feeling every part of her responding to me.

I want her so badly that I ache, but I need to be the one to call the shots, for she so clearly is not in control right now. When she starts to pull up my shirt, I stop her hand and say, "Not yet."

Kat actually whimpers in protest and murmurs, "I want you, Verona."

Before I could stop myself, I say, "And I love you, Stratford, but what you and I both want…it's too soon."

"Did you just say…" She pulls away slightly and looks at me like I've lost my mind.

"Yeah." Kat's eyes glaze over slightly as I nod. "Wow."

Her gaze loses focus as she stares at me and I recognize that kind of look. Her fingers start unbuttoning my flannel shirt and she is halfway finished before I manage to say, "Your sister's on her way over to pick you up."

Her eyebrows raise in annoyance. "What? But we're only just getting started."

"That's right, princess." We have maybe ten minutes and maybe I am depriving both of us of a little taste of things to come. "So let's make the most of it."

The End


End file.
